


Falling Into Place

by bunniewabbit



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Canon, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-14
Updated: 2009-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniewabbit/pseuds/bunniewabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://bandom-hc.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://bandom-hc.livejournal.com/"></a><b>bandom_hc</b> challenge. Prompt: #145 - <i>i want the what-happens-next fic of when brendon got bottled at reading. any pairing, just lots of sad, dejected bden and his band loving on him like woah.</i><br/>Author's Note: This went a little sideways of the prompt. Also, more was intended, but will have to wait for the sequel. ;-)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Into Place

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://spinfrog.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spinfrog.livejournal.com/)**spinfrog** for the beta. She offered excellent criticism, suggestions and support. Any remaining errors are my own.  
> 

 

Later, looking back on it, Jon would be mortified that his first thought was, _Not funny, asshole._

But just then, Jon was looking right at him when Brendon crumpled to the stage floor, and in the split second of confusion where Jon was trying to figure out what was going on, it made sense that such a thought would cross his mind, because any other reaction would mean admitting that something serious might have happened to Brendon.

The truth was that he did think it, though, and when Brendon continued to lie there, inert, something icy stabbed through Jon's stomach. He took a couple of steps toward Brendon, still mindlessly plucking at his bass, trying to get a better look and thinking, _Get up, get up, get up_ , more out of stark fear than because the band was still playing and their lead singer wasn't singing. It was then that he noticed the green soda bottle, still nearly full with fizzing liquid, lying a few feet from Brendon's head. He had another split second where he couldn't quite believe that this was real, that even though he'd been watching bottles pelt the stage for the last few minutes, he just couldn't imagine anyone -- not even this Reading mob -- actually, maliciously aiming one at another human being, let alone _Brendon._

Abruptly, Zack materialized beside Brendon's huddled form, crouching over him protectively, and Jon blinked because he never even saw Zack move from his customary spot in the wings on the far side of the stage. It yanked Jon out of the surreal and into hard reality, and he ripped the strap from his bass off over his head and hurried over to put the instrument down as the rest of the band stumbled to a halt.

He got back just as a medic crouched over Brendon. Spencer had climbed down from behind his kit, expression intense as he hovered nearby, and Eric and Bartram joined what was now a small crowd of people around Brendon. Ryan joined them more slowly, looking small and anxious with his fingers still clutching his guitar. Leaning in tentatively, Jon tried to get a look at Brendon's face and was relieved to see that he was conscious, but his eyes were closed in pain and he had a hand curled protectively around the side of his face. Jon watched for a few moments longer, his fingers slowly closing into fists. He turned on his heel, fighting a hot spike of rage in his chest, and stalked off into the wings. He wasn't the sort of guy who was prone to violence, but in that moment, it was all he could do not to _hit_ something.

He was just getting himself under control when Ryan joined him, having shed his guitar. Ryan folded his arms around himself and said, firmly, "He's going to be okay," like he was trying to convince someone. Maybe even himself. Jon nodded stiffly, and Ryan tilted his head. "How are _you_ doing?"

"Oh, _I'm_ fine," Jon snapped, and then huffed out a breath. "Sorry. It's just, I can't even fucking...." He flailed around, trying to figure out how to express the emotions roiling through him. Ryan's fingers rested lightly on Jon's forearm, cool against his skin. "I know," Ryan said, and Jon caught the sharp flash of Ryan's turquoise-ringed eyes that told him that Ryan did.

Ryan's attention snapped back to the stage at a swell of cheering from the audience and Jon followed his gaze. Relief flooded him again as he saw that Brendon was upright, and Zack was starting to look around for the two of them. They headed back in front of the crowd, Jon grabbing his bass on his way past, trying to order his thoughts as he slipped the strap back around his neck. It couldn't have even been two minutes since Brendon first went down, but it seemed like ten times that.

Brendon already had a mic in his hand. "You can't take me out!" he declared over the sound system, his swagger apparently unharmed, and Jon grinned in spite of himself.

A hurried consultation as they figured out where to pick up, and then Brendon faced the chanting crowd once more. "Why don't you try it again?" he challenged, and Jon almost choked, realizing in that moment that he never before truly understood just how _fierce_ Brendon could be. "Let's see how well you guys do with my _left_ side." Jon was left smiling to himself in disbelief and shaking his head as they launched back into the song.

The rest of the set went kind of amazingly well; the audience, just minutes before seeming bent on their destruction, was now feeding their energy back into the band. Brendon was lit up, a live wire crackling across the stage, but Jon didn't miss the way he winced and clutched his head when he bent over to pick up a towel.

 

 

"Roight, lads, back on the bus. Leeds awites," Zack said in his horrendous attempt at a Cockney accent as he herded them aboard afterward. "And _that_ one," he added in his normal, no-nonsense voice, with a finger pointed at Brendon, "is not allowed to sleep unless someone agrees to check on him every hour."

"We'll take care of it," Spencer said firmly, and Brendon rolled his eyes.

"I'm _fine_. I'm not gonna sleep, anyway -- I'm too wired." Zack just gave him a Look, which Brendon carefully avoided meeting, so Zack cast a stern glance around at the rest of them before he nodded and headed for his bunk, mumbling something about catching a nap himself.

They hurriedly changed out of their stage clothes, having opted to skip after-show clean up in favor of getting to the hotel sooner. Sprawling around the lounge in sweats and hoodies, they settled in for the three-and-a-half-hour journey. Spencer opened the thick book he'd been working his way through, and Ryan settled across the table from him with a notebook and pen.

Jon sat down with his laptop and eyed Brendon on the other end of the bench, where he was hunched over and poking half-heartedly at his Sidekick. Setting the computer aside, Jon chewed his lip for a moment and then asked quietly, "How are you really, Brendon?"

"I'm fine. I'm _great_. I'm--" Brendon snapped, and bit back whatever else he was going to say. He flicked a look at Jon that started out nearly apologetic, but ended up sullen. "I have a headache that hurts like a motherfucker, okay? But... people just need to stop asking."

"Okay, okay," Jon placated. "I'm just. I was worried, you know? So, I just--"

"People just need to stop fucking _asking_ ," Brendon cut in, voice dangerously low. Jon held up his hands in silent surrender, and Brendon stabbed once more at his Sidekick and then launched himself off the bench and disappeared through the doorway to the bunks. Jon blinked and looked over at Ryan and Spencer, but Spencer just shrugged and went back to his book, and Ryan didn't even look up.

Half an email composition later, Jon sighed and put his laptop back down. He contemplated checking on Brendon and decided not to risk it just as Brendon blew back in and started digging through the fridge, only to emerge empty handed. Throwing himself back down on the bench, Brendon stared into space, chewing on his thumbnail. After a moment, he yanked his thumb away and crossed his arms over his chest as his thigh started bouncing a rapid, unheeded rhythm.

Jon sucked in a breath and ignored Brendon's warning glare. "I've got some Doritos stashed in my bunk, if you..."

"No," Brendon said shortly. "Thank you."

Brendon's leg bounced, bounced, bounced, and it was like Jon couldn't help himself. "You know, if you wanna sleep, the guys and I--"

"I don't need coddling, Jon!" Brendon was up off the bench in one angry shove and doing his best to pace in the cramped space. It might have been amusing if he didn't look so furious. "Jesus! Is it too much to ask to be left in peace?" He stopped and hissed, clamping his head between his hands.

"Dude, why are you yelling?" Spencer scolded, frowning at Brendon. Even Ryan was paying attention, now. "Especially if it's going to make your headache worse?"

"Fuck you. I'm not yelling," Brendon responded, but much quieter, and very carefully not moving.

"Yeah, fuck you back. Jon was only trying to help, asshole."

"I don't _want_ help," Brendon growled, his voice rising again. "I just want to be left alone so that I can forget today ever happened!" Releasing his head, Brendon dropped back onto the bench, his eyes looking anywhere but at any of them. There was a pause where the only sound was that of the bus engine.

''Brendon, that was an amazing show we just played," Jon said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't set Brendon off again. " _You_ were amazing." He watched Brendon's lips tighten into a hard line, and looked helplessly over at Ryan and Spencer. Spencer seemed just as baffled as Jon, but there was something in Ryan's eyes that looked like understanding when he turned them on Brendon.

"It's not like you did it on purpose," Ryan told him quietly, and Spencer shot him a look.

"That's easy for _you_ to say," Brendon spat at him, but Ryan didn't even blink. "It wasn't _you_ who--" Cutting himself off, Brendon dropped his head into his hands and left it there.

Spencer was still frowning at Ryan. "Did it on... Wait a minute." His eyebrows raised in disbelief as he looked back over at Brendon. "You don't mean to tell me that you're blaming yourself for that bottle!" Brendon's only response was to drop his head until it nearly disappeared beneath his hands.

When Jon glanced at Ryan, there was that same look of understanding on his face, now mixed with sympathy, and Jon got it: Ryan _hated_ looking stupid, _hated_ being made a fool of, hated being made to feel like _less_. And Brendon was the dorky kid in school with barely a handful of friends who was either picked on or ignored, and sometimes his self-esteem still suffered for it.

Returning his gaze to Brendon, Jon wanted nothing more that to reach over and touch him, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, _something_. But, now was not the time. Not yet. "That's not it," he murmured, still watching Brendon, though he was addressing Spencer. "It's not guilt. He's embarrassed."

His expression still one of disbelief, Spencer stared. " _What?_ "

"Spence," Ryan cautioned, and Brendon laughed, a hollow, humorless sound.

"Embarrassed, ashamed..." He lifted his head, looking utterly defeated behind his smirk. "A little of this, a pinch of that..." None of them seemed to be able to think of anything to say, and Brendon tugged self-consciously at the hair above his ear and avoided their eyes. "Hey, I'm even embarrassed about being embarrassed -- how's that for pathetic?"

Brendon's hunched shoulders were enough of an effective deterrent that Jon resisted the impulse to bundle Brendon into a tight hug, shushing him and doing whatever it took to make Brendon stop looking like _that_. Under Jon's gaze, Brendon uncurled a bit, visibly forcing himself to straighten. "I'm okay, guys," he said quietly, but he was still looking at his knees. "I've lived through worse than this. I just... I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Ryan nodded and threw Jon a quick, inscrutable look before turning back to his notebook. Still staring at Brendon, Spencer wore a conflicted expression, part confusion and part frustration.

Glancing once more in Brendon's direction, Jon repressed a sigh and opened his laptop again; maybe he could get a couple of emails ready for sending once they reached the hotel.

It was almost impossible to concentrate, though, aware as he was of Brendon folding into himself on the other end of the bench, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. It made Jon ache. He'd gone still, though, less distracting than the tense, vibrating Brendon from before, and Jon eventually managed to get two emails done and start a third before he was surprised by the warm pressure of Brendon huddling into his side, his cheek resting lightly on Jon's shoulder. Jon raised his eyebrows at him, but didn't say anything, typing a few lines before giving up and saving the draft.

Closing the laptop and setting it aside, Jon said lightly, "You know, it's not polite to read other people's email."

"Wasn't looking," Brendon muttered, nudging at Jon's arm with his shoulder. Jon took the hint and lifted his arm up and over Brendon's head, curving it around so Brendon could snuggle closer.

"I thought you didn't want coddling," Jon observed, bringing his other arm up to make a protective circle, lacing his fingers together over Brendon's shoulder.

"This isn't coddling, it's _cuddling_. There's an entire letter of difference -- pay attention."

Jon hid his smile in Brendon's hair, keeping his voice solemn. "You're right, sorry. Stupid of me to confuse the two."

As they sat quietly, Jon let his mind drift, and Brendon sagged a bit, his head dropping lower onto Jon's chest until Jon finally had to let him go so Brendon could resettle himself, lying sideways on the bench with his head in Jon's lap. There was a series of scrapes on Brendon's face, tiny red marks running past the slightly swollen outer corner of his eye, and anger flushed hot across Jon's skin before settling back into protectiveness and sympathy. "I thought you didn't want to sleep, either," Jon told him, and Brendon didn't even open his eyes as he mumbled something that might have been "Fuck off" before his breathing turned deep and even.

Absently combing his fingers through Brendon's hair, Jon leaned his head back and closed his own eyes, just letting the time slide by with the hum of wheels on pavement. He roused a little when Ryan threw a cushion on the floor and folded himself onto it near Brendon's knees. Spencer still had his book in his hands, but Jon noticed that Spencer's eyes were focused on Brendon a lot more often then they were the pages.

 

 

Once at the hotel, they huddled in the lobby to discuss rooming arrangements, Brendon off to the side, sulking about being fussed over.

"Standard procedure for a possible concussion is to wake him up every hour, or so," Zack said, "so I think the easiest thing would be for the two of us to take a room together. That way, the rest of you can get some actual sleep."

" _We_ could do it," Jon proposed, glancing from Spencer to Ryan, trying to gauge their reactions. "There's three of us, so we'd each only have to get up, like, three times."

Spencer nodded, Ryan shrugged, and Zack regarded them dubiously. "You sure? No slacking?"

"It makes the most sense," Spencer said reasonably. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "who's going to save us from the mobs of haters tomorrow, if you're not at your bright, shiny best?"

Zack rolled his eyes. "All right, but if he's dead in the morning, I'm not covering your asses. So. Two rooms?"

"One room would be better," Ryan interjected, and Spencer glanced sharply at him. "It would just be easier," he clarified, and shrugged again.

"I don't mind sharing," Jon said when Zack lifted his eyebrows at him. "It can't be any worse than the bus, right?" he added, smiling.

Zack just stared at the three of them for a moment, and then said, "Okaaay, then," sounding completely unconvinced. "I'll go see if they maybe have something with two kings."

 

 

It turned out that the hotel could only come up with a room with two queen-sized beds on such short notice, but Jon didn't think that was going to be that big a deal, as accustomed as they all were to their cramped bunks on the tour bus. Brendon only grumped a little at being made to share a room with all three of them; Jon was pretty sure that it was just for show, and when Brendon let it go so easily, Jon suspected that he was actually secretly pleased with the arrangements.

Then, Ryan suggested that the tall people -- meaning he and Spencer -- should each get a short person to share a bed with, and both Brendon and Jon pretended indignation, but Jon was not really that bothered. Mostly, he couldn't shake the feeling of needing to be near Brendon, to make sure that he was okay, but he knew he was being ridiculous so he didn't press the issue.

As it was, Brendon claimed to be feeling better, but they still decided to hang out and get room service rather than venturing out. They took turns in the shower and then spread out on the beds while Ryan clicked through channels looking for British comedies.

When Spencer stole every pillow in sight and lolled back against them, Brendon pounced, staking claim and curling in against Spencer's side. It was nothing that Brendon hadn't done a hundred times before, with all of them, but Jon found himself watching them until it felt like he was staring. He twisted back around, stretching out on his stomach next to Ryan, and tried to focus on the TV. He was so intent that he startled a little when Ryan twined a bony ankle with his and scooted closer. He looked tousled and tired despite being freshly showered, smeared remnants of turquoise around his eyes, but he was smiling, his expression oddly soft, and Jon couldn't help but smile back.

 

Jon opened his eyes later and realized that he'd been dozing. The warm, slightly damp weight against his arm told him that Ryan was probably in similar shape, confirmed by Ryan's mumbled complaint at Jon's gentle nudge. They roused themselves enough to get ready for bed, Ryan taking it upon himself to poke Spencer awake and easily dodging the arm that Spencer eventually flailed out at him.

Brendon stirred, fumbling at the drawstring on his sweatpants, so Spencer obliged him by tugging them off. All pale, thin arms and legs in just a t-shirt and briefs, it seemed to Jon that Brendon looked very young and vulnerable as he resettled himself under the covers, and Jon looked away quickly, suddenly and irrationally uncomfortable. Spencer gave him a strange look and prodded him in the direction of the bathroom, snagging Ryan's sleeve along the way.

Huddling together in the bathroom, voices hushed, they coordinated phone alarms for waking Brendon: Spencer first, then Jon, Ryan, Spencer, Jon, Ryan, every hour until they woke up for good. It made Jon groan inwardly (Ryan didn't even bother to contain his own sounds of dismay), but he was determined to do this thing right. He refused to look at it as anything other than a formality, though, because thinking about it any harder than that sent a shaft of cold fear through his gut again. So, like a mantra in his head, he was unconsciously repeating: _it's going to be okay, Brendon's going to be okay, everything's going to be **fine**_ , which helped him to veer away from the occasional, _Oh, God, please let Brendon be okay._

Morning looked a very long way away.

 

An insistent buzzing brought Jon to consciousness and he dug the phone out from under his pillow, resetting it again for three hours later so that he wouldn't forget. Careful not to disturb Ryan, he climbed out of bed and stepped cautiously around to where Brendon lay sleeping. They'd left the bathroom light on and closed the door, just enough of a make-shift night light that Jon could clearly see Brendon lying on his back with one arm flung over his eyes. He'd barely put a hand on Brendon's shoulder when Brendon muttered, "'M fine," and Jon figured that was good enough and headed back to bed, wondering whether Brendon had been asleep at all.

 

When the phone buzzed again, Jon allowed himself a quiet groan before setting the alarm once again and crawling out from under the blankets and over to the other bed. What he saw in the dim light when he got there stopped him cold, staring, because instead of two bodies, there were three. And it wasn't just that Ryan had evidently decided that it was easier to slip in next to Brendon than to find his way back to his own bed; it was the way they fit together, all three of them, Brendon curled into Spencer's chest, his head tucked under Spencer's chin, Ryan molded against Brendon's back. Like interlocking puzzle pieces. It didn't look like three friends in a bed -- it looked... _intimate_. For several moments, Jon found it difficult to breathe.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Jon took a determined breath and leaned over Ryan, putting his hand on Brendon's shoulder, sleep-warm through the t-shirt sleeve. When Brendon didn't stir, Jon squeezed gently, whispering his name.

Brendon snuffled a bit and turned slightly, peering fuzzily up at him. "Jon?" he said, voice low and thick.

"Yeah, hey. Go back to sleep, okay?" Helpless to stop it, Jon watched his hand reach out and smooth the hair away from Brendon's face. Feeling his own face flush hot, he was fervently grateful for the darkness surrounding them.

Brendon gave him a drowsy half-smile and turned back over, burrowing closer to Spencer. "'Kay," came his muffled reply.

Jon stood looking for another few moments, chewing his lower lip and trying to push down the hollow feeling in his chest. Then he tore his eyes away and headed back to his own bed.

As he was lying down, he caught sight of Ryan's phone on his pillow where he'd left it when it was his turn to check on Brendon. So much for their carefully planned schedule for waking Brendon. Jon sighed, trying not to feel resentful as he reset his alarm to go off in an hour. Stuffing his phone back under his pillow, Jon lay down and stared into the dark. When he realized that he was, in fact, staring at the other bed, he rolled over to face the other way.

Although he had only been an official member of the band for a few short months, Jon had never felt left out before. They had included him in everything, had done everything they could think of to help keep him from feeling like "the new guy." He was happy, and grateful, and the guys and the band were everything Jon could ever have hoped for.

But, this... this was new. New to Jon, anyway -- clearly not new to the others -- and he hadn't even known that he wanted it. He couldn't see them or the bed anymore, but the image was branded into his brain, burning behind his eyelids. There was no room for him there, no way he would ever fit into what they had. _You don't even know what it is_ , he scoffed at himself, but it carried no weight because he knew at his very core that whatever it was, he _wanted_ it.

He was still awake when his phone buzzed again.

Turning it off, he dropped it on the pillow and dragged himself out of bed. His bandmates were pretty much as he had left them, except that Brendon had turned over and pressed his face into Ryan's armpit. In spite of himself, Jon could feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He carded his fingers through Brendon's hair and said softly, "Brendon, hey," and couldn't bring himself to stop petting him even when Brendon groaned softly and looked up at him.

"You, again," Brendon said; not question or complaint, just a simple statement of fact.

"Me, again," Jon acknowledged, still smiling crookedly.

"Stay..." It sounded like half request, half demand.

Jon tripped over a breath, the grin slipping from his face. "Can't," he managed. "No room for me."

Turning his face away, Jon was starting to pull back when long, thin fingers closed around his wrist. "Stay," Ryan ordered, voice sleep-rough.

"But..." Jon began, starting to feel just a little bitter, because this really was not fair.

" _Stay_ ," Ryan repeated and tugged, his grip surprisingly firm.

Gritting his teeth, Jon tried to keep his voice low and even. "There isn't _room_."

Ryan huffed and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, never relinquishing his hold on Jon's wrist. "Move over, Brendon," he mumbled, pushing at Brendon's chest.

"Shut the fuck _up_ ," Spencer's complained, voice startlingly loud, and he wrapped an arm around Brendon's waist and hauled him backward, leaving an open expanse of sheet and pillow between Brendon and Ryan. Jon blinked.

When he felt the pull on his arm again, he followed, climbing carefully over Ryan and fitting himself into the gap. Ryan finally let go so that Jon could get comfortable, but all he could do was lie there feeling stupid and awkward. "I don't even have my phone," he said in a small voice, feeling ridiculous.

"We don't need no steengking phones," Brendon said in an exaggerated Spanish accent. Spencer thwapped him and Ryan snorted.

"It's my turn next, anyway," Spencer grumbled. "Besides, Brendon's too much of a stubborn pain in the ass to die tonight."

"Unfortunately," Ryan supplied, gloomily.

Brendon ignored them, saying, "Roll over," poking at Jon's shoulder, so Jon did as ordered and found himself curved around Ryan's bony back. Ryan snuggled back at the same time that Brendon crowded in from behind and snaked an arm around Jon's waist. Hesitantly, Jon fitted his arm around Ryan, and Ryan's response was to lay his own arm on top of it, wrapping his fingers around Jon's wrist once again, but loosely this time.

Jon had to admit that it was a perfect fit; he realized that they were stacked together like spoons in a drawer, or better yet, sardines in a can, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with the urge to laugh. "At least if I die, I'll die warm," Brendon mumbled into his shoulder, and then Jon really did laugh. If Spencer hadn't growled, Jon felt like he could have gone on giggling and giggling...

He finally drifted off, feeling comfortably crowded, and like he could breathe properly again for the first time all night.

 

* * * * * * *


End file.
